


Almost There

by Shotgunpicksthemusic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Gen, M/M, Professor!Cas, mechanic!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 20:17:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5640535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shotgunpicksthemusic/pseuds/Shotgunpicksthemusic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his professor's car breaks down in a massive snow storm, the last thing Dean wants to do is get trapped with him, especially since he has a major crush on the man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost There

**Author's Note:**

> I had a wonderful prompt, and I only hope I don't disappoint :)
> 
> Comments, constructive criticism, kudos are all welcome and adored!
> 
> Thanks to all who read, comment, and kudo. Y'all rock!

The laptop sat there, mocking him. He gave it a dark look, pushing it to the side on the table and shoving his chair back, standing up.

Denial was something that Dean did, very well. Right now, he was ignoring the fact that he had a paper due for English (Augmentative Writing, and why the hell did he need that for a business degree?). He refused to read the last feedback from his professor, a real stick in the mud, straight laced—and unfortunately, hot—man, a stickler for rules who gave no slack. Dean spent half his classes with the man thinking about how he'd be in bed, and the other half wondering if he'd ever write anything the man found passable.

Dean sighed and walked out of the office, glancing outside as he did so. The snow was falling thickly, heavy, wet and sure to stick. That meant tows and extra hours, and conveniently, less time to actually write his final paper. Whatever, he still had like a week to finish it and hand it in before Christmas break. The phone ringing caught his attention and he pushed the paper, the class, and the worry about passing from his mind.

The snow continued to fall, piling up on the side of the road and freezing on the black top. Dean was right, there were more than a few people caught on hills and sliding into ditches and by the time the sun set, he was cold, tired, and ached from hooking cars up, pulling people out, and putting chains on.

He sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve, feeling his hands and face sting when he entered the warmth of the garage. He flipped the sign on the door to closed. Bobby was away on vacation and it was just Dean today, doing tows and working on long term projects. No one would know or care if he took off a bit early, and the roads were horrendous. More snow was projected, too, the news was going on and on about the enormous storm that was going to freeze everyone out.

' _Lucky I don't have to travel in this_ ,” Dean thought, glancing at his Baby. It would take a few minutes to close shop, settle the till and lock it up, then he could walk to Bobby's house and ride out the storm there.

When the phone rang, he thought about pretending he didn't hear the damn thing, but what if it was someone who really needed help? Sighing deeply, he picked up the phone, answering with a gruff:

“Singer's Garage.”

“Oh, thank god. You're the fifth place I've tried, and everyone else is closed. My car slid off the road and I'm trapped.”

Dean closed his eyes, groaning quietly, because he knew that voice. The last person he wanted to interact with, to be honest.

“Hello?”

“Uh, yeah, I'll be right there,” Dean said. “Tell me where you're at.”

Relief was evident in his professor's voice as he told Dean the road and mile marker he was at. Dean assured him he'd be there quickly and hung up, pulling his jacket back on.

The roads were getting worse and the storm was just kicking up when Dean guided the tow truck carefully to his destination. Professor Novak's Continental was ass up in a deep drainage ditch, back wheels hanging forlornly in the air. The man himself was outside, shivering in his jacket, his hands tucked under his arms. He looked so relieved to see the truck that Dean was glad he'd decided to answer the phone.

“Had a bit of trouble?” he asked, getting out of his truck to inspect the car.

“Mr. Winchester.” Castiel nodded in greeting. “I wasn't aware you did this sort of work.”

“Nothing wrong with it, Professor Novak,” Dean said, a bit defensively.

“No, of course not,” Castiel answered. “In fact, it explains a lot.”

Dean wondered what he meant by that but shrugged it off, crouching to get a good look.

“Broke your axle,” he said, pointing. “Is there anything you need in the car tonight?”

“You can't pull it out?” Castiel looked worried.

“I will, but I can't fix it tonight, so you'll be carless for a bit.”

The wind whipped around them, flinging stinging snow in their faces and against their coats. The sky was shrouded in dark clouds, with no hint of a moon or stars, the only light the weak glow of the headlights of the truck.

“All right,” Castiel said, “just tow it back to your garage, I guess and I'll figure it out from there.”

“You can wait in the truck,” Dean offered, noting how much the professor was shivering.

“Thanks.”

Castiel gratefully climbed into the heated cab. He watched with rapt attention as Dean maneuvered the truck, agilely hooking the Continental up and raising it on the bed. A whoosh of cold air and snow flew into the warmth when Dean climbed back inside. He glanced at Castiel like he wanted to say something, but gave his head a little shake and just set the truck in motion, headed back to the garage.

“Thank you for coming out,” Castiel said, breaking the awkward silence.

“I was almost closed. You're lucky I answered the phone,” Dean answered.

“I am lucky.” Castiel pulled out his phone, texting someone. He frowned at the response, huffing a sharp breath out his nose.

“Something wrong?”

“My brother can't come get me. Maybe a taxi?”

He spent the remainder of the ride attempting to get a cab, but the storm was keeping them either busy or off the streets. He had no luck with any friends or family, either, with the ice and fierce windstorm locking down the city. Dean swung the truck into the junkyard, deftly moving around hulks of metal covered deep in snow.

“It's getting worse,” Castiel said. He climbed out and waited as Dean opened the garage door.

Dean sighed and watched the snow for a moment. He could lend the professor a car, but he'd probably end up in another ditch. His mouth pulled to the side as he considered just how stupid his suggestion was going to be, but he still opened his mouth and made it.

“I'm staying in my uncle's house, just over there,” he gestured to the other side of the yard. “You can stay with me until the storm lets up. It's really not safe out there on the roads.”

“I wouldn't want to put you out.”

“You're not, really. My uncle's away, so it's just me, if you're cool hanging with the dumb one.”

Castiel snorted and shook his head. “You are far from that, Mr. Winchester.”

“Call me Dean. I mean, if it's okay? I don't know what the rules are, you know, teachers mooching off of students.” He grinned to take the sting out of the words, pleased when Castiel smiled back.

“Very well, Dean. And please, call me Cas.”

“Cas it is then,” Dean said, nodding. He opened the door, shivering when the harsh wind blew inside. He pulled his coat tighter around him and motioned for Cas to step outside, locking the door behind them.

He led the way across the deepening snow, breaking a path. Castiel followed close behind him, grateful that Dean's bulk blocked the wind just a bit. Soon, they were stomping up a wooden porch and Cas followed Dean inside the dark house.

“Sorry about the mess.”

Cas simply smiled and, when urged, took off his jacket and handed it to Dean, who hung it next to his. He followed Dean into a cluttered but homey living room and settled on the edge of the couch.

“Um, I was just gonna get some food, a beer, watch some TV?”

“That sounds fine, Dean. I'm sorry to be an imposition.”

“Nah, company's good,” Dean said with a shrug. “Burgers okay?”

“I love burgers.” Cas's face scrunched up in a wide, gummy smile.

Fuck that smile. Dean felt his cheeks heat up and a warmth pool in his stomach. His lip curled up in response; he just couldn't help but return the smile. He backed out of the room, moving into the kitchen.

“What should I put on?” Cas called from the other room.

“Anything is good, if we have reception,” Dean yelled back. “I think Syfy has a Star Trek marathon on.”

“I've never seen Star Trek,” Cas admitted, startling Dean when he appeared suddenly in the kitchen.

“Never seen...” Dean stared at him, mouth agape, blinking.

Cas shrugged. “I don't watch much television. Do you need help?”

“No,” Dean shook his head.

“Is it all right if I stay in here and watch?”

“Uh, I guess?”

Dean glanced at Cas when he sat at the kitchen table, rushing over to move his textbooks out of the way with a 'Sorry'.

“So you do study,” Cas said, tapping a book, amusement evident in his voice.

Dean frowned and turned away, feeling his cheeks flush again, but for a very different reason.

“I know my grades ain't spectacular, but I try,” he said. He didn't look at Cas, instead focusing on gathering the ingredients for his burgers.

“I didn't mean anything by it, Dean, I apologize.” Cas's voice was soft, gentle. “Do you work full time in the garage?”

“Yeah, and school, too. For a business degree.”

“That's a lot to handle,” Cas said, standing and moving next to Dean. He watched him place the meat in the pan and leaned against the counter with his hip. “And you cook too. A renaissance man.”

“I had to cook, man. Took care of my brother and that kid could eat you out of house and home. Now there's the real smart one,” Dean continued. “He's going to Stanford, gonna be a lawyer.”

“You are very intelligent, Dean.”

Dean looked up, blinking at Cas, his eyes questioning. “Uh, ok?”

“I mean it.”

“Yeah, you show it in my grades.” Maybe that was too bitter. Was that too bitter? Dean shrugged internally and went back to the burgers.

“How much time do you spend writing your essays?”

Dean thought of the computer in the garage, of the paper due, and shrugged.

“I grade based on what I see, Dean. And in you, I see brilliance that is there, but buried.”

Dean only huffed and shooed Cas to the side, reaching for plates.

“How about we eat first, then we can get all philosophical about whether I'm an idiot or not.” Dean tried a grin, but it fell flat. “Beers are in the fridge, will you grab me one?”

He sighed when Cas stepped away, watching his ass move in his jeans.

Normally, Dean ate in the living room, so that's what he did now, plating two burgers and chips, leading the way. Cas carried in their beers and they sat on the couch, balancing the plates on their knees. Dean grabbed the remote, flipping through channels in search of anything on. He nearly dropped his plate when Cas moaned around his burger, turning wide eyes on the man.

“This is very good,” Cas said, before taking a large bite.

“Glad you like it.”

Dean settled back in the couch, having chosen the Star Trek marathon to watch and the two men ate in quiet companionship. Cas finished first and took his plate into the kitchen, returning with two more beers and handing one to Dean. He sat on the couch again, but closer this time, turned to face Dean.

“Yeah?” Dean finished his burger and put his plate on the floor next to the couch.

“I meant what I said, Dean. You're very smart. I see it in your writing.”

“I don't get why I gotta take all these classes, though,” Dean protested. “I'm gonna be running a garage, up to my elbows in grease, not writing a novel.”

“It's part of general education.” Cas lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Everyone has to take it.”

“So how about you? Why do you teach at a community college? I like your lectures; you're a good teacher,” Dean said. He met Cas's gaze evenly and gave him a small smile.

“Because I run into students like you, Dean. Sure, there are the kids just out of high school who are eager but confused, and there are people who are just taking the classes to fulfill a requirement, or for what they think is an easy A.”

“I'm only taking it because I have to,” Dean admitted.

“Are you saying you wouldn't choose to hear me lecture?” Cas rested his arm against the back of the couch and leaned towards Dean, propping his head on his arm.

“Professor Novak, are you flirting?” Dean tried to sound shocked, but he was laughing.

“That depends. Is it working?” Cas tilted his head, giving him a hopeful look.

“I don't know. Do I get an A out of it?”

Cas rolled his eyes and moved, pushing off the couch. Dean grabbed his arm and held him in place.

“I'm sorry.”

“I shouldn't have, although you're very difficult to resist.” Cas settled back on the couch, one leg curled under him, his arm along the back again.

Dean slid his hand from Cas's arm and turned to face him, mirroring his pose.

“I only kept with the class because of you,” he said. “Writing the papers is hard.”

Cas nodded. “You are doing well, Dean. I think you could be doing better, that you're capable of more, so much more. You're very hard on yourself.”

“Well, someone has to be,” Dean joked.

Cas snorted in response. “I meant it, Dean. You say you're just taking these classes because you have to, but you could do so well, if you applied yourself.”

“So your feedback says.”

“Which you don't read,” Cas said.

“It shows you that?” Dean looked shocked.

“Yes, it shows me when it's read.” Cas sighed. “I really do enjoy you in class and I've wanted to get to know you better, Dean. The little bits of you that shine through your writing are intriguing.”

“Class is over in a week,” Dean said, shifting slightly forward.

“Yes, yes it is.”

Dean leaned towards Cas, slipping his hand up to cradle his jaw.

“Can I kiss you, Cas?”

“Please,” Cas answered.

Dean grinned and pressed his lips to Cas's. Cas brought his hand off the back of the couch and slid it around Dean's neck, tangling his fingers in the silky hairs at back of his head. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, opening his mouth when Dean's tongue slid against his lips.

Dean pulled away, breathing ragged, resting his forehead against Cas's. He ran his hand lightly on Cas's leg, stroking gently.

“I've wanted to do that since the first class.”

“I'm glad you did.” Cas placed two fingers under Dean's chin and lifted his head so that he could look in his eyes. “We have to wait, technically, until the term is over, but after that, Dean, I would very much like to go out with you.”

“Yeah, that'd be awesome,” Dean said, smirking. “I'm going out to pick a Christmas tree next week, if you'd like to come with me?”

“I'd love to,” Cas said.

“Until then, let me school you in the fine art of Star Trek,” Dean said, settling back into the couch and pulling Cas against his side. He buried his nose in Cas's hair and took a deep breath, smiling when the man snuggled against him.

“Is it the one with the laser swords?” Cas asked.

“Dear god what did I get myself into,” Dean muttered, but Cas only laughed and turned the TV up.


End file.
